


Honey and Vinegar

by Liadt



Category: Richard III - Shakespeare
Genre: Ableism, Biting, Dubious Historical Accuracy, F/M, Hair Pulling, Mild knife play, Mostly talking, Scratching, Slapping, mild blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: Left on her own at Crosby House, Anne is angry at Richard. Richard wouldn't have it any other way, but nothing can last forever, can it?





	Honey and Vinegar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hyenateeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenateeth/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta, Kalypsobean. Any mistakes are ones made by me in the final edit.

**At Crosby House**

Anne was sitting at a table, sewing. A long thread had twisted into an untidy mess as she drew it through the fabric. Annoyed, she pulled sharply at the thread, twanging it like a bowstring, in the hope it would untangle itself. When it didn't, she sighed, turned her work over and poked at the thread with her needle. Sewing mistakes she could solve, but coming to Richard's house was not a mistake which would be easy to undo. She looked around the room, it was a decent sized room, on the first floor. There were fresh rushes on the floor and the walls had wood panelling. On one wall hung an attractive tapestry depicting the resurrection of Christ. Next to the window, there were a pair of cushioned chairs and in the centre a table, with a chair and a couple of stools around it. The room wasn't overlooked making it ideal for a lady and her attendants to spend the day quietly occupying themselves. Apart from servants, Anne had no company, she had been left on her own for days in this unfamiliar house to await Richard's presence. She wasn't demoralized by being alone, in fact, the situation annoyed her. It was no way to treat a guest or even a future wife. 

The only other person in the room was a maid. The maid was tidying the room and came over to dust the table. Anne moved her embroidery supplies out of the way and the jewel set in the ring she wore caught the light. The ring was Richard's and another irritation. The small scrap of material she had stuffed underneath to keep it from slipping off was itchy. She pulled the scrap out; textiles weren't her friend today. Richard's claim he would come to see her soon after he had seen old King Henry interred had proved false. She wondered why she was surprised and disappointed at this. The house she was sitting in belonged to Richard and she felt her wait was humiliating too. Maybe Richard had sent her here because it would be convenient for him to retrieve the ring if he changed his mind about marrying her. The ring was made of gold and set with a large ruby - a valuable piece - Richard wouldn't want to lose it.

The door to the room opened. Anne looked up in surprise - Richard was standing in the doorway and, instead of his normal understated attire, he was wearing brightly coloured and richly embroidered clothes.

“Anne, my lady,” said Richard, bowing to her from the doorway.

 _Speak of the devil_. “Where have you been all this time? I did not come to your house to spend days waiting for the master to return,” said Anne.

“I have been to see the dear, departed Henry laid to rest, as I said I would. When it was done, I took time to pray for forgiveness for the part I played in his demise. He was a most gentle and Christian man.”

“The finer the words you use, the less sincere you sound. It was good of your tailor to do penance with you,” said Anne, coldly.

“My lady?” Richard's expression was full of concern which did not reach his eyes. They had the glint of the expectation of a battle.

“Leave us,” Anne ordered the maid. The maid had withdrawn to stand against the wall, head lowered. She bobbed her head obediently and scuttled to the door where Richard blocked her way. She curtseyed and he sidestepped to allow her to exit. 

“Have I wasted my time in fitting myself out in new garments to make your eyes merry and light up your sweet face?” 

“I prefer you in black,” said Anne, truthfully. “It suits your character.”

“A sober and sad one.”

Anne snorted.

Richard tilted his head to one side. “Yet I think both our moods will be lifted once we've addressed how I've offended you. If you will give me leave to come into your presence?” He was still standing by the door.

Anne rolled her eyes and nodded. Richard had not cared for her opinion when he had accosted her in the funeral procession. Slowly, he walked towards her, his limp more pronounced than usual.

“What's wrong with your leg?”

“These new shoes pinch. I suspect an apprentice was left to do his work unsupervised, but I shall risk blisters instead of your ire.” 

Anne narrowed her eyes; it wasn't a believable excuse. He did not seem to be pained by speeding up and moved easily despite his limp. Since his bow had given her a good view of his back, she supposed he was deliberately highlighting his infirmities, although she wasn't sure as to his motives. When he reached her chair, Anne put out her hand for him to kiss. He put his misshaped left hand under hers to raise it to his lips and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

“As I get nearer, you begin to thaw,” he said.

“You don't miss anything, do you? I smile at you showing off what a foul formed thing you are. In any case, I would not be moved by pity for your condition today. There was a spark between us when we argued. I am a widow and not an innocent maid. I anticipated you would give me more than a ring and a pledge of your heart. Is this why you've kept me waiting, to incur my displeasure and to ignite the same feelings?” Annoyed, she stood up and faced him, her eyes level with his. “What a strange way to bewitch a woman, but why would I expect anything normal from you?”

Richard met her gaze evenly. His eyes were bright chips and their depths gave Anne no answer to what she sought in them. “Nay, it is I who am bewitched by your beauty.”

“Once more, you flatter me.”

“You do not sound like you enjoy my compliments. You fear I am playing you false?”

“I am not ugly, but I am no head turner either.”

“Ever the angry angel.”

“You repeat yourself, my lord. I think you desire me to spit on you again. I won't give you the satisfaction. I'm done with you, Richard of Gloucester.” Anne drew her hand back and slapped his cheek. The oversized ring swiveled on her finger and slashed his skin, drawing blood. Richard caught her fingers in his hand. She tried to pull free, wondering if she had, accidentally, gone too far. Her doubts dissolved as he kissed her fingers, his eyes alive with desire. Then he pulled her towards him to bring his lips to meet hers. She could have laughed – not far enough, clearly. He had got something from it, and maybe she had too. A thrill ran through her at the chance to find out if hurting him would arouse pleasure in her. 

The kiss was rough and clumsy in Richard's urgency to claim her mouth. Close to, he smelt of leather and horses, which overlay the floral smell of scented water. He moved his mouth along her jaw and down the side of her neck. Anne moaned softly in delight and ran her hand through his hair. On the outside, his hair was gritty with dust from the road, but underneath his hair was fine and silky to the touch. Her actions knocked his cap askew. He lifted his head to shake it off. She seized the front of his tunic and swore under her breath in frustration as she fumbled with the gilt buttons. There was only so much she could do to him with his body under layers of clothing. In one swift movement, Richard undid his sword belt and pressed a dagger into her palm.

“Not a sword today?” Anne raised an eyebrow.

“If we need a spare blade it's there.”

There was the satisfying sound of fabric tearing as Anne forced the dagger down his shirt, slicing through layers of clothing and sending the buttons on his tunic flying. That done, she flung the dagger across the room and pushed the clothing apart to expose his chest. The point of the dagger had left a thin red line. That couldn't have hurt much, she thought, with a twinge of disappointment. Cutting his clothes had been dramatic and she hadn't had a fitting response. She might be aroused, but it hadn't dampened her anger and she scratched a nail down the shallow cut. She wanted him to feel pain whether he enjoyed it or not. Richard hissed and rolled his hips against her. She continued by scraping her teeth along his chest and bit down hard on a nipple. Richard threw back his head and let out an oath. 

“Good,” mumbled Anne. 

“Is that a question?” said Richard, huskily.

“I was talking to myself. I can feel your answer.” Anne grabbed his crotch.

“You will have me on my knees.”

“Mmm.” Anne bit his earlobe, then made her way down his neck, softly nipping his skin. Richard grunted, first in surprise and then what sounded more like pleasure as she bit harder, holding his skin in her teeth for a moment before letting go. His skin tasted like dirt, as if he hadn't paused to wash his face after the journey here, and that made her smile. She had Richard under her control, and she intended to make good use of her influence over him as long as she had the advantage. 

“Shall I bite you?” said Richard.

“You've got to really hate someone to do that.” Anne didn't want him to bite her. To her, the bites were her way of marking him as hers. Perhaps she really would go through with marrying him after all.

“Love is overrated.” Richard tilted her chin up with a finger and kissed her. Grasping her waist firmly with one hand, he pushed her to the side of the table. Anne perched herself on the table, took off her headdress and tossed it on to a chair. Richard reached over and loosened the lacing of her dress.

“I'm not having you fuck me in the remains of your clothes, get rid of them.” said Anne, nodding at him. _Nor am I being the one to disrobe._ Whatever power she could exert she intended to wield, especially when she was enjoying herself in doing so.

Richard hesitated.

Anne smirked; he wasn't so keen to show off now. “Scared if I see any more of you I'll come to my senses and find you too vile to fuck? But humiliation doesn't scare you, does it? You'd rather I demonstrate how disgusting I find you, but, to tell the truth, what I find off putting is the gaudy rags.”

“They aren't dissimilar to what Ned wears.” Richard was a little put out, the garments were indeed fit for a king, one with deep pockets. He had to admit, if he had waited until his feelings of elation over winning Anne's favour had subsided he wouldn't have bought any new garments.

“If you share the same tastes as your brother, then you'll want your ring back for a Woodville bride.”

Richard grimaced in disgust and clutched the two halves of his tunic together as if the thought was enough to stop him from undressing.

Anne didn't want his interest to dwindle and miss the chance to add to the marks she'd already put on his body, so she distracted his thoughts away from rivals at court. It wasn't difficult. “By the way, your groin looks unusually swollen. It needs attention, in my opinion.”

“It needs a lady's touch.”

Anne pulled a face. “You'd never make a decent fool.” 

“Only for you, I think.” Richard kept close to her as he removed his ruined clothing and gloves. “Which do you prefer: my bent back or my wasted arm?” Richard smacked his palm down on the tabletop. “I presume you aren't interested in how my legs match up.”

Anne glanced down at the discarded tunic. It had extra padding on one side to disguise that one shoulder rose higher than the other did. _Ay, I bet I've seen more of you than most, but it's funny what you'll do when desire takes over_. “You're more normal than your disproportions suggest.”

“Disappointed?”

“Very.” Anne gave an amused chuckle and playfully scratched his stomach. Bites were not the only way she could mark him as her own. Watching Richard strip had made her want him more. With his clothing out of the way, she could see, although he was slender, he was wiry. Richard was no weakling - she'd found that when he'd pushed her to the table - and the feeling of dominating someone who was physically and mentally strong excited her. That, and his obvious desire for her, intensified Anne's need to have him. “I can tell by your frame, you've not been restricting your exercise to the lifting of a goblet at feasts," she said in an admiring purr.

“I haven't given up weapons practice, in case my skills are needed,” said Richard.

Anne smiled at the pride in his voice; men were easily flattered. Richard grinned back and reached down to her skirts. Anne would have liked to make him beg for her, but she didn't want to delay any longer and aided him in pulling her skirts up, exposing her white thighs. She spread her legs apart and he freed his cock from his hose. When he went to thrust into her, she wrapped her legs round him to pull him in. As he pushed deep inside, she arched her back and emitted a groan – it was one part of his body where he wasn't lacking. Richard pushed his good hand up the front of her dress to palm and pinch her breast. Anne moaned in response, his hand was rough, but it didn't diminish her pleasure. Pleased at his efforts, she raked her nails down his side leaving scratch marks. Letting go of her breast, he slid his hand down to her behind. With his hand moving down her skin, she was again surprised at his palm's roughness. A nobleman shouldn't have rough hands, but she didn't care about that when she was becoming abandoned to sensation.

“Fuck me hard,” said Anne, with a groan, and dug her fingernails into his back to emphasise her need. 

Richard gripped her arse tightly; Anne too would have some bruises. “If the table can take it.” 

“Fuck the table.” She leant forward to bite him into obedience as a rider would spur their mount to do their bidding. The unmarked patch of skin she chose wasn't particularly sensitive; Richard barely winced. 

“If you want hard, try harder,” he said. 

Anne picked a reddening mark and bit into it again, and sucked to draw his blood towards his skin. Richard let out an exclamation and concentrated on doing what she wanted. She held on to him like his thrusts would propel her off the table and her breath come out in gasps, culminating in one final cry as waves of ecstasy went through her. Chest heaving, she relaxed her hold on him. Richard clasped his arms tightly around her. A couple of thrusts later, he too reached orgasm. Spent, he let Anne go and dropped on to a nearby stool.

****

Still sitting on the table, Anne repositioned her plaits. All the tension she had been holding inside herself these last few months had gone. She didn't feel relieved, however, it felt strange to have been released from the strain she'd been under. Richard was standing and frowning at his torn clothes he had retrieved from the floor. Anne frowned too as she observed him – for the first time, she saw Richard wasn't bad looking. She wondered why she hadn't noticed before. It wasn't because, well, his face wasn't his most notable feature. Nor was it a case of being overshadowed by his brother, all men suffered in comparison, or they had - indulgence had diminished Edward's beauty. Richard couldn't be described as dull, either. He had excited her. She was flattered to have the interest of an intelligent man, whatever else he might be. She looked again at Richard, who stirred the rushes on the floor with a foot, perhaps in the hope of finding a missing button. What had put her off when she had been in his presence before were his piercing stare - one that made her want to take a step back - and an infuriating smile that suggested he knew something she didn't. The only thing amusing about it was it was crooked.

Richard glanced at her and shook out his ruined tunic. “Back to black for me.”

“Don't get dressed.”

Richard gave her a knowing look and bundled his clothes over an arm. He sat on the stool in front of her and tilted his head back. “Here, admire your handiwork.”

Fascinated, Anne leant over to inspect the red marks she had left. She had never hurt anyone in her life, never dreamt of biting and scratching anyone like a wild animal. Nor would she have thought she would get a thrill from the resulting marks. “How long until they turn from red to purple?”

“I don't know. After I put my shirt on.”

“I won't be able to see them change colour under your collar.”

“There's still the cut on my cheek.”

“But I didn't mean to do that,” said Anne and pouted. “I hope it doesn't leave a scar.”

“If it does, it will be a happy reminder of an unforgettable afternoon.”

“How will you explain it?”

“I'll claim I was out hunting and got caught in a patch of brambles.”

Anne tapped him on his upper arm. “I see other scars.”

Richard turned his head. “Oh that, I got that during a wild boar hunt. I was on my hands and knees in the bushes and one of my party accidentally caught me with the end of a spear, instead of the beast. Ironic considering my badge.”

Jealousy rose in Anne. Scars from accidents and fights she could accept, but what if he was lying? She couldn't abide it if anyone had done the same as her. She felt she had staked her claim on his body. “Just a hunting accident, same as your cheek. Is that a lie too, to explain an encounter with another woman?”

“You're the only woman who has treated me so. I apologise for making you think otherwise.” Richard kissed her hand and went down on one knee. 

“Oh, get back up.” Anne grabbed his hair, still damp with sweat, and yanked upwards.

Richard stood up and turned his face to display the pale skin of his unmarked cheek. Anne slapped him and smiled in satisfaction at the sound of the slap. 

Richard mouthed, “Ow,” at her and grinned.

“There, you have taught me how to flatter you,” said Anne.

“Ay.”

The pair of them jumped as a door slammed outside, somewhere down a corridor, followed by the sound of marching footsteps. Hurriedly, Anne slid off the table, jammed her headdress on and pretended to sew her embroidery. Richard pulled his clothes on, belted them shut and lurched forward to grab his cap off the floor. The footsteps came right up to the door, paused and then carried straight on. Anne laughed in relief. 

Richard turned to Anne. “Do you still accept me as a suitor? Or have you really done with me?”

“Our marriage would cause difficulties. The King holds my inheritance from my attainted father. I doubt he would want to give up the land. The question is, would you want me if I came without a fitting dowry?” With those words, Anne's cares came rushing back; she had forgotten them while brooding on the reasons for Richard's absence. She felt guilty for betraying the memory of Henry and her dead husband. They had done nothing to her and she had repaid them by enjoying herself with their murderer. She crumpled her sewing in her hands, confused by the emotions warring inside her. 

“Don't worry about your estates. If I can get past the Woodvilles who surround my brother, like the thorny brambles that spoil a garden, I can deal with Edward. He will listen to his ever loyal brother.” 

Richard's voice sounded like it came down from a long tunnel to a preoccupied Anne. “What am I doing? I was sobbing for the former king and my husband and now I wear your ring.” She placed the offending ring on the table. 

On Richard's velvet cap there were stray pieces of straw from the rushes. He dusted them off his cap and placed it back on his head. “Perhaps you aren't as good as you imagine. Ignoring what just happened between us, how would you say you have conducted your life?”

“I have been dutiful to my family as a good woman should.”

“And what has it got you?”

“A husband in a cold grave and the loss of a queen's crown.”

Richard gave her a long, hard look; his interest was piqued. “You care about power?” 

“I care about the loss of position. I had the status of being the Earl of Warwick's daughter and now I'm afraid to utter his name. I find it hard being pushed to the outside. I don't want to be an outcast.”

“Who does?” said Richard, with a sardonic smile. “I have suffered the consequences of the actions of those closest to me. Edward chose a wife, who, with her relatives, schemes to push me out of his favour. I often wonder if I can still call him brother.”

Anne nodded. “It does not seem fair I should have to worry about my future because of my father's decisions. And my marriage only lasted months.”

“Hardly a marriage at all.”

“No, but if you killed poor Henry because of me...”

“Don't feel guilty. If he had lived rebels would have used him as a figurehead. The crown would be under constant threat.”

“It was inevitable he had to die for peace,” concluded Anne, sadly.

“And one less claimant for the throne,” said Richard.

“Ay,” said Anne. 

“Henry, with his soulful eyes raised to heaven, wasn't fit to be king. He was content to let events sweep him along, instead of steering his own course, like you have. Don't be a victim, another Henry, stop acting dutifully and take control of your destiny.”

“What destiny? Women are afforded little space in the world to exercise their will.”

“You have no father to tell you who to marry now.”

Anne smiled grimly. “It is not only men who have constrained me. My Edward was kind to me, but his mother, Margaret, controlled my movements. She couldn't abide to have Warwick's daughter near her son. He allowed her to dominate our relationship as he worshipped her. Then, with nowhere to go, I threw myself on my sister's charity. Her husband, your brother, took it on himself to take charge of me.”

“I can't imagine George dominating anyone.”

“George made sure I was never alone, unlike you. He was afraid I'd run off and get married and then he would lose any chance to add my inherited estates to my sister's portion. As his brother, you must have had some idea what he was up to; a funeral procession doesn't usually include a spell of wooing. George didn't personally impress the virtues of a nunnery to me, but others in his household did. And I'm still not free, I'm in limbo, the only difference is the York brother I'm a guest of.”

“But if you could choose?”

“I know I don't want to be the poor relation or expelled to a nunnery and as being queen is out of the question…” Anne thought for a moment. “I suppose I do need a husband.”

“You don't sound certain; are you hoping for a proposal from a proper man?”

“You've proved your masculinity.”

“Many would say any man who allows a woman to chastise him is no man at all.”

Anne went up to him and turned down his collar to inspect his neck. “You deserved it, and I do not care for other people's opinions when I have made you mine.”

**The Wedding Night**

Anne was lying in bed, moving her fingers in front of her eyes in the gloom. She had a new ring, one which fitted her perfectly. It was her wedding band, and she was spending her first night with Richard. She had been looking forward to the event. After their afternoon together, they had behaved appropriately by not spending a single moment alone. The words they had shared were civilized small talk, and therefore boring. She had given him a sharp pinch as they said their wedding vows. His reaction was a distracted smile, which was disappointing. He'd had his fun, she guessed, and wasn't surprised he had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. As well as feeling frustrated, she was embarrassed. A small retinue of guests had accompanied them to their bedchamber to witness the sound of the marriage being consummated. All the witnesses heard from behind the curtains of their four poster bed was Richard's soft snores. The witnesses made jokes about the effects of drinking too many toasts to the bride and then left them alone. Her anger at him had cooled and been replaced by pragmatism. The dead couldn't help her nor offer comfort, but Richard could. There were worse things than a dull marriage, thought Anne, as she drifted off to sleep. 

Anne woke with a start. Richard had cried out in his sleep. His eyes were unseeing as he clawed the air like he was seeking an escape. Choking back a sob of terror, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pushing the curtains aside and sat shaking. Anne sat up and stared. Seeing Richard's distress upset her, but she was unsure what to do. She didn't want to make things worse. Concern moved her to place a hand on his shoulder. Richard flinched and jumped up. Framed by the moonlight in his white nightshirt, Richard looked like a ghost.

Richard's face twisted into a sneer. “Oh, Anne, who would think to look at you that your sweet mouth conceals the tongue of a witch. I have not been wed to you a day and as soon as I share a bed with you, you bring me your curse of ill rest. If you were your fragile sister I would be rid of you sooner.” 

Anne was stunned. This was the first time Richard had said anything less than complimentary to her. “But she is wed to your brother.”

Richard gave her a look, which indicated he thought she was the most idiotic creature he had ever seen. “By the way, what was Isabel smirking about through the wedding banquet? I wouldn't think she had much to celebrate.”

Anne's mind kicked into action. Fear was making him nasty, but it could be dealt with if she kept calm. “She was amused because she has married better than I.”

“Hmm?” Richard's tone was dangerous.

God's blood, he thinks it's because he's a hunchback and he's right. Chiding Isabel for her unkind remarks hadn't worked and her sister remained incredulous over her choice of husband. Not that she was going to tell him of her sister's derision. She had chosen her words badly, but she knew rivalry often stunted finer emotions in men. Anne sighed deliberately. “George is your elder brother and therefore senior to you.”

“Barely,” said Richard scornfully.

“When I was the wife of the then heir to the crown, Isabel's nose was put out of joint. As the elder sister, she thought she should have the heir. She is pleased to see me marry below her.”

“With George in the Tower, her star is in the descent.”

“Edward will change his mind. Locking him up because of a flimsy prophecy is a weak excuse. Edward will come to his senses and release him.”

“It doesn't take long to kill a man. Edward's mind might not change quickly enough to save George. Isabel won't smirk then.”

“No, she won't. I wouldn't have to listen to her snide remarks anymore. I would be above her and make some choice remarks myself, asking if she noticed any difference in her husband when he lost his head. Whatever brains he had he's replaced with wine.”

“Why, I believe there is a little devil inside you, Anne.” Richard sat next to her on the bed and gave her a nudge with his elbow. “Forget your sister, I will raise you up and make you my queen.”

“Don't all husbands say that?”

“I'll go beyond talking metaphorically.”

“You will, huh?”

“As your loyal subject.” Richard inclined his head. Sliding a hand into his hair, Anne twisted his hair round her fingers and pulled hard to bring his ear close to her lips, so she could whisper into his ear. “Then you shouldn't keep me waiting for my wedding night.”

“I'd forgotten how vexed waiting makes you,” said Richard, wincing.

“You found fucking me forgettable?” Anne dug her nails into his scalp.

“The fucking I remember, what happened before you slapped me is hazier. Will tonight live up to the last time?”

Anne kissed him and pushed him down on the bed. “It will,” she said and raised her hand.

****

Lying in bed, Anne idly traced a finger round a bruise on Richard's chest and then slid her hand down to enjoy the contrast between smooth skin and the surface of the scratches she had made. She was happy she would have the luxury of watching the new bruises change colour and fade. 

“Why do you like me to hurt you, is it because of Cecily?” said Anne. Her drowsy contentment made her ask what she would normally be careful to avoid. Like his back, his mother was a sore point. Anne felt Richard tense under her and he turned his face to hers, inches away on the pillow. There was a flicker of hatred in his eyes, but then he shrugged. 

“My mother did strike me a couple of times when I was a child. They were taps really. Any sort of contact revolted her. It was the one of the few times she gave me any kind of attention. If she had to endure my presence, she'd ignore me. You might as well suggest my father. I doubt my tastes have anything to do with my parents, but I'll indulge you with a bedtime story. Do you remember when I was sent to your family's household, in Middleham, to train to be a knight?”

Anne did remember, they had been carefree days, when she didn't have to worry about anything other than getting mud on her latest dress.

“When my father visited, to find out how my training was progressing, Warwick set up a fight with another lad. I wasn't very good then. I spent most of my days being knocked into the dirt. I overheard Warwick saying he didn't know if my father genuinely thought he could make a knight out of me or if York didn't have the heart to crush my hopes and had left it to him. On the day my father came, Warwick decided on the latter course. He chose an older lad who would not go easy on me to show my father his folly." 

"It was unfair of my father to not give you a chance." Feeling protective of the young Richard, she kissed his shoulder. 

“I'm not telling you this to gain your sympathy,” said Richard, curtly.

 _What am I supposed to feel?_ Anne had the alarming thought she was beginning to care for him.

Richard continued, "I knew I was going to receive a good beating - my opponent was bigger and more experienced than I. The swords were wooden, fortunately, or I would have been the first son of York to fall. I resolved to hold out as long as possible before my inevitable defeat. Of course, this isn't how to fight on the battlefield - armour soon tires the wearer out. There, survival relies on dispatching a foe as quickly as possible.” Richard's face lit up as he mimed a killing blow.

Anne smiled inwardly at his brief burst of enthusiasm. _Of course, I welcome this tidbit of information because ladies frequently find themselves involved in battles. Queen Margaret was the exception, but I have no intention in ending up like her._

“How long the bout lasted I don't know, it felt like forever, but was probably minutes. When I'd got off the ground and bowed to my father, I steeled myself to see the disappointment in his eyes. Instead, he was proud and told me not to be disheartened about losing as it takes time to become a skilled fighter. He said he couldn't have done better at my age against an older boy. Learning from my mistakes would serve me well on the battlefield. Then he clapped Warwick on the back and congratulated him on the training he was providing. I was stunned and elated. It was worth the bruises. They were trophies of resilience and a kind of triumph in the face of a set up designed to humiliate. Warwick's plan had backfired.” Richard fell silent. 

_So there it is, the real reason Richard hates my father, not for being a traitor to the house of York, it goes further back than that_.

“I still thought like a child then, seeking others' approval. A man should strike out on his own and search for no approval other than from what lies within,” added Richard.

“You did not seem childish to me. I recall a serious, young fellow permanently covered with a layer of dust, with his nose stuck in a treatise on warfare, who had no time for us girls. Your determination proved my father wrong and won me over. When I think on it, it doesn't seem so farfetched that you could win the throne and a crown for me. How would you do it?” Anne gave him an inquiring look.

“First, George. He is in jail and will not leave alive. Already there are wheels in motion to that end.”

Anne sat up and stared down at him. “I was being light-hearted.”

“Were you? When you can't keep away from the subject.”

Anne lay back down and mulled things over. “I would feel pity for my sister, but I would not mourn George. I was surprised when he wasn't severely punished for helping to reinstate Henry. If my sibling had set to uncrown me, I would not have been so forgiving. I would mark him as an inevitable, like Henry. Moreover, I am your wife now; my loyalty is to you. George's death is one step. What of his children?”

“I'll marry off the daughter and the son is a disappointment; no parliament would make him king.”

“Then there is the king.”

“His majesty has wrecked his body with lustful wantonness and gluttony. The loss of George would be the final blow.”

“It didn't take you long to predict the king's demise, this leaves the final hurdle of the princes.”

“I, as their protector, will fulfil my duty of care to stop them living a lie. They are bastards and cannot rule.”

“Bastards?” This didn't make sense to Anne, but it was apparent Richard had thought hard about how to clear his path to the crown and she wanted to hear his if his reasoning made sense or was a wild fantasy.

“Edward, tall and once fair, looks nothing like my father. When he was in France, my father wasn't around to pay the attention a husband should to his wife. There are rumours she became friendly with an archer. There can be no doubt I am the true heir of York. I'm the same height and, like him, my aspect is not so comely.”

“That's not true. You aren't unattractive.” Even his imperfections were attractive to her. Her favourites were the bruises on his chest. They were her marks which made them especially pleasing. A smile came to her lips as she thought about them.

“No? But then you're biased, I suppose.”

“York was a dour looking man with an unbecoming frown etched on his features.” When she was younger, she had wondered why her father championed the Duke, when she grew older she recognised York would have made a competent, if unremarkable, king. The kingdom would have faired better under him than Henry.

“You would if you carried the knowledge your place in the world had been usurped.”

“You haven't been ill-favoured in that respect. You should look at your face properly. I don't think anyone else has either.”

“If so it is to my advantage if they are too distracted by the rest of me to focus on my visage.” A brooding expression settled on Richard's face.

Anne didn't want any moodiness. “And then you're king, just like that!” She made her voice upbeat and clicked her fingers.

“Not quite, there are those who would be resistant.”

“Is there any way I could help?”

Richard gave her a lopsided grin. “Now, why didn't I think of getting married earlier? A woman's wiles could be useful.”

**The Night Before the Battle of Bosworth**

Through clouds of mist, Anne drifted. She was tired and didn't know how long she had traveled. The clouds began to thin, she saw a light ahead of her and struck towards it in the hope of finding a place to rest. The light shone from the open flap of a tent, it was large and there might be a chair or bed to rest on inside. Two figures came out of the tent and jostled past her into the mist. They were shorter and slighter than her - Boys rather than men. Judging by their silhouette, they were wearing nightshirts. How odd, it was too cold to run outside in nightshirts, but then she always felt cold these days. She went into the tent and took stock of her surroundings. The tent was not a mean one. There were stools, a trestle table, a large, white oak table, with writing materials and a map spread on it, a couple of chests covered with carpets and an array of weapons. Wall hangings lined the tent for decoration. One of them depicted a boar: Richard's emblem. On the trestle table was a silver plate with the remains of a meal consisting of rabbit bones in a sauce. She sniffed it experimentally, in the mist she had smelt nothing, and she missed the smell of a good meal. The corners of her mouth turned down, she should be able to smell something; her sense of smell must have gone. In the centre was a bed, next to it was a stool with a candle burning on it. It was the light that had attracted her attention. The light illuminated the slumbering figure in the bed, it was Richard. He was partly covered by a rumpled blanket, there were other blankets on the ground. They weren't near the bed and must have been thrown off. He had a troubled expression and sweat beaded his brow. Clearly, Richard wasn't having a good night's sleep.

“Richard!” called Anne. 

Richard stirred in his sleep, but did not wake.

Could he not hear her? She went up to him and tried again. 

“Richard!” What could she do as a ghost? She wanted to get his attention. Maybe he would be able to feel her presence. Ghosts were said to be cold, after all. Straddling him, she grabbed at one of his wrists and found she did not go through him. Richard's eyes flicked open and stared at her in terror. With a whimper, he tried to bat her away with his free hand. She caught his other wrist and pinned his wrists on either side of his head. Try as he might, he could not throw her off. Anne's body was almost transparent - she could see his wrists through her hands - yet she possessed a strength she didn't have in life. Realising his struggles were in vain, Richard lay there quietly, his eyes fixed on her. He had no choice, but to wait and see what she would do next. 

Anne's attention had been distracted by the two figures. Their forms were familiar. Then it hit her, they were the princes, they had been too shadowy to be living boys. What she feared, had happened. The last time Anne had held Richard was the night he had cried out, “Edmund,” the name of his slain younger brother. By that time in their relationship, Anne had given up on trying to deal with his night terrors. Any comfort or distraction came to irritate him. It was easier to leave him to cope on his own. He would pace and tremble, hugging himself, while Anne tried to snatch some sleep before morning. That night she had reached out instinctively to hold him tight in her arms as he shook. Richard rarely said anything coherent in his sleep - it had to be a sign. Edmund was the boy who never lived to flower into a man. He had been cut down in cold blood. Anne had an attack of conscience. Richard wanted the princes together in the Tower and she was fooling herself if she thought they would be safe there. She knew, too well, what Richard was capable of. It was a step too far for Anne. 

Anne had avoided simply begging him to let his nephews be as she feared if she pressed him too far her plea would have the opposite effect. When she met the former Queen outside the Tower, on the eve of Richard's coronation, she lost all hope. Later that day, when she had joined Richard to prepare for the coronation, he was displeased she didn't share his joy. Anne had presumed she was banished to their bed chamber because Richard didn't want her blotchy, tear stained face ruining his crowning glory. 

“You poisoned me! I had fallen ill due to the strain caused by your bloody intent. The last thing I remembered, before I died, was a physician giving me a bitter tasting draught to drink. You took advantage of my illness. What was the last straw? Was it because I don't hold with murdering innocent children? Wasn't making them bastards enough? Don't dissemble with me,” said Anne. 

Richard's terror abated. She was talking normally, no intoning of 'despair and die'. He twisted his wrists in case Anne was thinking of freeing him. Her cold grip didn't loosen. “I didn't kill you because of your gentle appeal for their lives. Young Edward was no babe and his brother would have been a troublesome adult, thanks to his Woodville upbringing. He couldn't keep a civil tongue in his head.”

“I'd held out a slender hope the right choice of words from a woman, your wife, would soften your heart.” Anne was going to stress the Duke of York's youthful age to him too, but didn't. Richard would take slights and brood on them, even from a child. “I've said some hurtful words to you. Did bitter resentment drive you to end my life?”

“That was different. You were upset and angry and justly so. And I liked the fire in your eyes.”

“I thought your dream of Edmund would soften you. I thought he was telling you to change your course.” said Anne, with sorrow.

“It was a reminder I shed no tears for his death and, therefore, I needn't fear remorseful thoughts over the princes' deaths.”

“I asked you why you cried Edmund's name out in your sleep. You said you didn't know why, was that because you realised you would feel no remorse for my death either?”

“I didn't want to kill you.”

“Oh no?” Anne gave a sceptical laugh. “Which makes it all right, of course.”

“I needed to be free to marry Edward's eldest.”

“Elizabeth? You did mention how fair she was. I didn't realise what you meant. I thought, well, she does have lovely hair. She's your niece; you shouldn't have carnal designs on her.”

“I learnt from Edward the people like to see their idealised version of royalty in the flesh. Elizabeth's beauty would give them what I couldn't. As my bride she would also make my position on the throne secure being Edward's heir. Some still refuse to believe the illegitimacy of Edward's issue. I don't want to marry my niece. I find it distasteful too. You will always be my favourite wife.”

Anne gave another appalled laugh. “Your excuses are pathetic and so are you. I can't believe what I did to smooth your path to the crown. Most men listen to their wives or their mistresses. Even the women who didn't trust you thought no ill of me. I told so many lies, like the story of your supposedly cursed arm. When I was asked about Hastings' speedy execution, my words carried weight as your wife. I was best placed to confirm I had seen it wither up, when it was the same as it had ever been. All because I thought we were in this together - a team. I was a fool to think you cared about anyone other than yourself. I was never a wife to you. I was a tool to discard when I was no longer useful. My first instincts were right - you are a monster, and there is no humanity in you!”

“I know what happens when that look is in your eyes, Anne. Is it possible to sleep with a ghost? We're halfway there already, aren't we?”

Anne was angry, although Richard was in a way right, he should be afraid of her. She released one of Richard's wrists and slapped his head into the pillow, spreading his hair across his face. He carefully felt his jaw with his free hand to check if it was broken. Anne had delivered a powerful blow. 

“I take it my suggestion was met with favour?” said Richard, his voice muffled by the pillow. 

Anne put both her hands on his chest and pushed down as hard as she could. She aimed to cause discomfort to his spine. Pain he suffered regularly didn't arouse him. She was pleased as he squirmed in discomfort under her and his efforts to breathe as she pressed the air out of his lungs was a bonus. He would not regard her lightly now, thought Anne, and eased her weight off. 

Richard gulped in a lungful of air and smiled weakly at her. “We should have done this before. I feel quite light headed. It would be interesting to experiment.” 

Richard reached up to her. Anne leant back. Coldly furious, she decided she would kill him there and then. He wouldn't find her a passing diversion in his final moments - he would take her seriously. She realised now he never had. Putting her hands around his throat, she squeezed, but then her hands lost their purchase and an invisible force dragged her out of the tent back into the mist. Howling in rage at being denied, she thrashed her limbs as if to swim back. She did not want Richard to win. Realising her efforts were futile, she shouted at him to think on her and despair and die. 

**After the Battle**

On the battlefield, Anne was standing a little way off from Richard's corpse. Foot soldiers were busy stripping the cold body. They had gathered round him, like a pack of hunting dogs round a fallen stag. They were scavenging his armour. Whatever state his armour was in, it had monetary value. The parts that wouldn't fit anyone else could be sold as scrap. Unlike with Henry, Anne would not be following his funeral procession, for it was apparent there wasn't going to be one. A soldier cursed and struck the corpse because he couldn't undo a buckle, making his mates laugh. A tired looking man leading a thin horse came up to the group and told the soldier to hurry up as there was a pit waiting to be filled with the dead.

One piece of metal the men were forbidden to take was Richard's crown. Lord Stanley knelt at Richmond's feet and offered the mud and gore splattered circlet to the new king. Richard had thought he was clever. Maybe Stanley was the clever one, thought Anne. He had survived three kings by remaining loyal until it served him not to be. Doubtless, he would extend the same service to Richmond.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw dim, grey shapes. They were ghosts like her. She wondered, as their wandering begun, would hers end soon? Would she see Richard drained of colour and blurred round the edges? She had been robbed of the chance to make confession before she died and didn't know if her wandering was part of purgatory, or if she was a trapped spirit whose next journey was to Hell. She prayed God would be forgiving to a woman who had been seduced into Richard's spider web. If Hell was her destination, she hoped to see Richard there. In Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if he tried to thwart the Devil. She would like to see him try. He was not one to turn tail from the impossible. The strange thing was, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to see him win or lose; both would give her the same pleasure. As Anne mused, the air shifted and changed around her feet. She stepped back as a grey cloud formed. It expanded before contracting down into the shape of Richard. She smiled wryly; Richard had a habit of appearing when she thought about him. He looked around with a dazed expression. 

Anne remembered the feeling of not knowing what was happening all too well. "You lost. After all that effort, you didn't keep the crown on your head for long, did you? That's your corpse." Anne pointed out Richard's body. To a chorus of mocking jeers, two men were manhandling the corpse on to the back of the horse. Richard raised a fist to his mouth and recoiled in horror. Anne didn't feel any compassion for him, he played the game and he knew the consequences. "It's not nice to see yourself dead, is it? When I saw my body, at first, I thought I was dreaming. My corpse was lying in bed, as if asleep, with a serene expression on my face. Gradually, it dawned on me it was no dream. You can hardly be surprised you're dead. Although, I grant you, you have the added shock of seeing your body in such a sorry state."

Lowering his fist, Richard launched himself at the jeering soldiers. None of his blows found their mark and he passed straight through them. Anne could hear him cursing the men. Unaware of his presence, they continued to insult his body. Richard came back into her view when the men walked through him. 

Sobbing with agonised rage, he came back to Anne. “Why didn't they see me? You could hurt me, why can't I do the same to them?” Overcome at witnessing the treatment of his corpse, Richard could barely get his words out and delivered them in a choked hiss.

Anne shrugged. “Perhaps death and defeat isn't your only punishment.”

“How can they do that to me? I'm the King, a member of the great and noble house of York!”

“ _Was_ the king and you brought about the ruin of your family's house.” 

Richard continued to stare at his corpse as it was carried away. "It was all so quick. A body of men came at me all at once - the weight of numbers held me down. They were so heavy." A note of panic came into his voice. "I couldn't get back up. Were there that many blows? It didn't feel like it."

"They didn't stop after you died," she said, grimly. She glanced over at the corpse's disrespectful retinue. One of them raised his dagger to strike it.

Richard nodded and quickly looked away from the desecration. “In these times, there's no respect for men who are cut down. The people never took me to their hearts; they have no reason to treat me well in death. I see none of my other ghostly visitors. Have you come to collect me?"

"To take you to Hell? I have hopes of Heaven, but then, perhaps, I was damned the moment I felt anything other than hate for you. Now you're dead, I should be at peace. Maybe I'm the only one here because I want to see what you'll do next. It's an urge I can't let go of."

"Do next? This is the end." Richard looked utterly defeated. “I am sorry, truly, for having you murdered. I got carried away in my desire for the crown.” He frowned. “That's no excuse, though, no excuse at all.”

Anne softened; his contrite tone sounded genuine, not like Richard at all. His resigned stance wasn't like him either. She decided to give him a pointer in the right direction. "If angels can fall, then why can't they be deposed?"

"That's not possible."

"How do you know?"

Richard gave her an enquiring look. "You still want to be the queen of somewhere, even Hell?"

"I hadn't thought of that."

"You're still my wife." Richard smiled at her and put out his hand.

Anne stared at his hand and considered. It would be a bad choice, but she couldn't resist. She took his hand, there was a sharp blast of heat, then the world stretched out and disappeared. Subsequently, life, if it could be called that, got very interesting, mostly for Richard, and, after a fashion, Anne got what she wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> In real life, Isabel died before Clarence, but I've taken his comment in Act1, sc4 "O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!" to mean she was still alive.
> 
> Thanks to my beta for the suggestion of Anne and Richard reminiscing when they were stuck together, forever, in Hell. Sadly, I didn't have the time to do the suggestion justice. The adventures of Anne and Richard in the underworld is worth a series on its own, however.


End file.
